ballet for the blind

the reason i remain still in this pure unruptured state
far from swamps of mild distate and horoscopes gone all awry
lies between the bitter agonies and cloudlike bits of bliss which
snuggle deeply all about the creviced crackings of this street.
have you seen them? grandoise warnings
frocked and flavored harshly, sweetly,
placed on steely unread street signs guiding we who cannot see them.
we, these marzipan creations flaunting feet and heart and hands
firmly planted where we've started, out of use and laid aside.
here we shake our resolutions to this crudely fashioned crossroad,
swinging carefree on the faultline into which we fear we'll fall.
and we will. and when we do so we will cease to show our weakness,
only pestering the heartstrings which depend on such dissention
for survival. so we'll shiver in this foaming, shaking water
where we wait for safety which we surely know will never come.
this is us: we faint as wilting as our substance now is washed
into the sea who will devour every meter of this street,
playing heartstrings lost as harpsichords, to quiet unheard discourse
in the crossroad. this, the waiting room, a ballet for the blind.